Premiering at Grimmfest’s annual horror film festival, Frankie, Maniac Woman (2025), directed and co-written by Pierre Tsigaridis, director of Traumatika (2024), arrives with the promise of a searing indictment of the music industry’s relentless objectification of women, yet ultimately becomes complicit in the very misogyny it purports to critique. Following Frankie (Dina Silva), an aspiring LA singer-songwriter whose journey from childhood trauma to violent retribution starts with serving as a powerful feminist allegory, the film instead devolves into gratuitous exploitation that undermines its own thesis, a blunder that is made all the more painful by contrasting Silva’s extraordinary performance.
Frankie, Maniac Woman follows the titular character as she navigates a gauntlet of fatphobic, misogynistic treatment from seemingly everyone in the entertainment industry. From the doorman who denies entry to her own headline gig, to the agent who reduces her artistry to pounds shed from a scale. Frankie emerges as a woman wronged and scorned in every conceivable sense. Silva’s raw, unflinching and primal portrayal is magnetising, creating a gravitational pull that holds viewers even as they recoil. The viewer feels disgusted by and empathy for her as we are slowly shown the systematic dehumanisation that has shaped the violent, unhinged monster she has become today. Although Frankie is clearly scarred by her previous experiences and out of touch with reality, Silva manages to craft an indefatigable, humorous, and tender character, one that is revealed through moments of deep vulnerability that seep through the extreme violence.

Frankie’s internalised misogyny has manifested in deranged, single-minded views of women: beautiful women are objects made to dehumanise and a mirror of all her insecurities, deserving to be hurt and punished. This important issue shows promise of delving into the complexities of misogyny, shame and the objectification of women through Frankie’s evolving thought-patterns and actions. The film’s first half demonstrates genuine sensitivity and crafts nuance in Frankie’s character as she avenges a woman’s harassment at the gym, a scene where protective fury and envy coalesce, reflecting the contradictions in her character. As well as this, Frankie shows a glimmer of self-awareness and realisation towards her own warped mindset when she realises one of the women she has dehumanised and killed is a fan of hers. This serves to outline the irony in Frankie’s internalised misogyny and shame; her actions are inadvertently harming her, as she has unwittingly killed someone who saw past her appearance and appreciated her for her vulnerable song lyrics and genuine talent.
However, despite the palpable anguish pouring from Silva’s performance and these fleeting moments of cathartic hope, the third act sees Frankie, Maniac Woman veer so catastrophically from its feminist premise that it metamorphoses into the very problem it hopes to critique. Frankie becomes fixated on a group of beautiful models who are gathered together in the desert – a location perfect to reflect their vulnerability and isolation. Rather than forging connections, the film strips these women of humanity with the same brutal efficiency Frankie employs with her weapons. Though the practical effects remain technically impressive in their anatomical realism, the unrelenting massacre serves no narrative purpose beyond spectacle, the camera lingering with unmistakable relish on beautiful bodies reduced to meat. Most damningly, the script ultimately locates Frankie’s trauma not in systemic oppression but in maternal failure, sexualising her mother in ways that perpetuate the very cycles of misogyny the film purports to examine. She is placed reductively into the Madonna-whore complex, which results in a diminutive cop-out that avoids the harder questions about how society manufactures its monsters.

Despite this frustrating finale, Frankie, Maniac Woman remains a compelling watch thanks to Silva’s fearless performance, the genuinely shocking practical effects, and a soundtrack that captures pure anarchic energy. The film possesses an undeniable charm and a grimy, rebellious sensibility that makes even its failures interesting. Silva creates a character we shouldn’t sympathise with yet do, a maniac we somehow root for despite ourselves, a monster whose humanity remains visible even in her most horrific moments – it’s no surprise that Silva won the award for Best Actor in a Female Role and the film notably received a special mention for the Best Score.
On many levels, Tsigaridis and the film itself empower the actress Silva to tell her story and allow her to take the lead with co-producing and writing the film as well as reflecting the deep, feminine rage Frankie feels through the soundtrack provided by Silva’s own (kick-ass) band. Ironically, though, the thematic confusion and inability to properly articulate the social message surrounding fatphobia and misogyny is a reflection of Frankie herself: attempting to destroy what it secretly envies, unable to escape the very system it claims to critique.

Following 15 successful years of the October film festival, Grimmfest have recently announced they will be hosting Grimmfest 2025: Part 2 The Online Edition, which offers horror hounds even more opportunities to be exposed to new and innovative films of the genre! Frankie, Maniac Woman (2025) is among the fourteen feature films and shorts programme on offer to enjoy from the comfort of your own home from the 5th-8th December, so you can decide for yourself whether you ride for Frankie or not.

We watched Frankie, Maniac Woman (2025) at this year’s Grimmfest 2025
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